in this light, you are perfect
by sonofasnitch
Summary: The streets were empty in front of them, an impossible feat accomplished for such a bustling and crowded and moving city like Paris. [...] They should probably get going. Post-reveal drabble.


**Note:** Heh. Hi there. *waves awkwardly

No, this isn't Wrong Note. I know. I'm sorry. And as much as I liked the _idea_ for this because, quite frankly, this could have gone longer (infinitely longer. I'm not a drabble type of person. I'm a let's-write-a-whole-eleven-thousand-word-one-shot-just-because kind of person. I like to ramble and insert as much exposition as possible into _everything_ , it's embarrassing.), I just didn't have enough time or energy to do what I want with it.

It's meandering as hell, confusing as hell, and makes no fucking sense whatsoever. Sounds right up my alley, all right.

And this is also technically a Christmas fic. Although. That would be kinda-maybe-really a stretch. Maybe if 'ya squint, you'll see some Christmas in there somewhere. Maybe.

I also didn't edit this much. But that isn't new.

 **Disclaimer: _I do not own Miraculous Ladybug or any of the characters._**

Reviews are Christmas lights and cake!

* * *

She looked untarnished and golden under lamplight. All the yellow hung around her like a persistent cloak of fireflies, catching her hair and her eyes in a honeyed glow that, for some unknown reason, made the night sky of her hair and the forget-me-not of her eyes stand out instead of cloud over. He could look at her forever, he knew.

"We should probably get going," she whispered, voice quiet and hushed. The streets were empty in front of them, an impossible feat accomplished for such a bustling and crowded and moving city like Paris. Adrien looked away from her, also an impossible feat accomplished, and looked instead to the market shutting down and closing in like a flower after dusk. They should probably get going.

Marinette made a move to step away from the lamp post, her combat boots clacking as they met face to face with cobble, smiled at him in that way that made him helpless.

"Chaton, it's getting late." she said, that fog-inducing smile turning into a headier, knee-weakening grin. "We wouldn't want your father to worry now, would we?" She was being coy, and there was shade of teasing evident in her voice, but they both knew better. Adrien's father wouldn't worry; he wasn't around enough to worry. He ignored the slight twinge in his chest at that thought. Marinette must have seen, since her (beautiful, beautiful) smile dropped and her expressions folded into one of concern. "Oh," she sighed, shocked at her own tactlessness.

"No, it's fine," he said to try and save face. And he didn't like seeing that look on her, that look of vast empathy. The fact that she had such an endless capacity for empathy was one of Adrien's favourite things about her, but sometimes, it got on his nerves. Sometimes, she knew too much.

Marinette stepped closer to him, hands folded in front of her in a gesture that nearly resembled prayer. The light casted above her made her look ghostly, and her eyes were wide and reproachful and full of remorse. "Adrien," she started, voice shaking and somber, "I didn't mean to off—"

"You didn't," Adrien cut her off gently, grabbing hold of her hands. It was cold and she didn't even bother to wear any gloves, stubborn girl. He closed his own (gloved) hands over them, and looked at her with an expression that he hoped let her know that she was forgiven. She was always forgiven. "Are you cold?" he asked her, an inelegant subject change if there was ever, but she humored him nonetheless.

"A little," she conceded, pinking at the sight of his, admittedly larger, hands drowning hers. He smiled at that, taking it a step further by guiding her hands into his coat pockets. Marinette turned scarlet.

"Do you want to head back?" he asked. He remembered suddenly how she was supposed to be with her family at this time, and instead here she was, with him, and he was happy, but also guilty.

But Marinette shook her head, a too-knowing look on her still slightly-colored face. "I'm fine here, Chaton." Her smile widened, dimples cratering and teeth appearing. "I want to be here. With you."

His stomach climbed to his throat at her words, and he can only nod, hope to God that she will understand how thankful he was.

He shan't have worried. She always understood.


End file.
